


He was a BAMF

by ArcReactorsandDragons



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Gen, Im so sorry its late, Its not Steve bashing, Steve can go teach grandma to suck eggs, Tony-centric, actualy its mainly Tony, i dont know why i signed up, i had problems uploading and writers block, i know nothing about fighting, im also really bad, so excuse all mistakes please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 09:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13245534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcReactorsandDragons/pseuds/ArcReactorsandDragons
Summary: The Avengers thought he needed self-defense lessons.Tony Stark though that the team was far too stupid for their own good.Then the perfect opportunity appears to show just how much he needed those lessons, in the form of the tower being attacked.





	He was a BAMF

Tony Stark stumbled out of the elevator, into the communal kitchen. He had been on a science bender, having been in his workshop for the past three days, he had only left when he realised that all of the coffee was gone, and the fridge was empty. Now, he had headed in a zombie like state towards the coffee maker. Steve, Bucky and Nat stood in front of his target. Tony narrowed his eyes at them.

“Move”, he mumbled blearily. 

“Tony,” one of them began, Steve, “The team have made a decision-”

Tony ignored him and walked over to the coffee pot, he tilted his head head at it and wondered if could be bothered to reach his mug on the top shelf, because a certain birdbrain new he couldn't reach it. Deciding he couldn't be bothered, he picked up the entire coffee pot and took a large mouthful of it, relishing the way it warmed him up from the inside. Also the caffeine, the caffeine of course was the best part, and now he had energy, he actually started listening to what Steve was saying. Taking a sip from the pot, he turned around, catching the tail end of what he said. 

“...take up self-defense lessons with us”, Steve gestured to the three of them. 

“Self. Defence. Lessons. Why, in the bloody fuck would I need those?” He raised an eyebrow at them, trying to seem as dignified as possible in three day old clothes stained with oil and grease.

Natasha raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow back. “Because, Shellhead, what if you are without the suit, and none of us could come rescue you? You could be injured, or killed.” 

“No,” he said, and walked out the room. 

Tony had hoped that had been the end of that. But no, of course it hadn't. Mr Stubborn Star-Spangled and Miss I-Could-Kill-You-With-My-Pinky-You-Should-Learn-Too, had been persistent, bothering him at seemingly every possible time they could. 

It was frustrating to say the least. He felt offended, shocked, indignant and last but not least, amused. They really though that he, Tony Stark, son of Howard Stark could not defend himself. But how would that relate to being able to defend himself some people may ask. Tony felt like the sort of people who couldn't connect the dots, (namely the super soldier, who seemed like he didn't remotely have a single super brain cell), didn't really deserve an explanation. 

He didn't really want to explain how he was kidnapped for the first time at four years old, for a ransom, and how it got worse from there. He didn't want to explain about his beloved father had hired the best instructors to teach how to defend himself, but the most they did was demonstrate moves then get frustrated when at eight, he couldn't exactly replicate the move. Didn't want to explain how his Aunt Peggy shouted at Howard for not coming to her first, and how his Aunt Peggy from there on out, taught him herself, using gentle words of encouragement and soothing hugs when he got too stressed. 

But that was over a week ago, and Tony was sure the rest of the Avengers would start scheming together to learn from them. Now though, it was peacefully quiet. The rest of the Avengers were out, Steve was out on a mission somewhere down in the south, Natasha was visiting Clint where the spy had gotten himself landed in the hospital wing of SHIELD and Bruce was out in India helping out with some organisation or other. It was peaceful, until it wasn't. 

His only warning was the blaring of alarms and JARVIS' cut off “Sir, incoming-”. 

Glass exploded inwards, shattering, the shards flew into lounge of Tony's pent house in the tower. Cursing, Tony leapt around the back of the sofa, cursing even more when the splices of glass were embedded in his sternum. If he wasn't so preoccupied with the little problem of the tower being breached, he would have been more with how his reactor ached as glass found it's way by edge of the metal. 

“Jarvis, report!” Tony rushed out, heading to the stairwells.

“A plane of unknown origin, flew in from the west, used an sonic wave device to shatter the windows. Approximately fifteen men are currently entering on the communal level.” Three floors below his. Jarvis' smooth British accent, comforted him slightly. At least they hadn't come in on any of the office levels, or disabled Jarvis. Not that they could of disabled him, but it reassured him to knew that they didn't. 

“Sound the alarm for all workers to evacuate and“, he ground his teeth, “Send a message to SHIELD that the tower has been compromised.” 

“Already done, Sir”. 

Tony grinned up at the nearest camera, “Time to raise a little hell”.

A few taps of the hidden electronic panels hidden in the stairwells gained him access to the security footage of the compromised floor. Soldiers were filling in the rooms, wearing body armour and holsters as well as carrying sub-machine guns, they made a slight formidable sight. They'd faced much worse. Hell, he had faced worse. Granted, he had been younger and without the Arc Reactor...

Focusing on the men, he found who was obviously the leader. 

“Volume, J”, he murmured, trying to figure out what the emblem on there vests were. Their voices filled the stairwell. 

“Intel was right, no heat signatures in the Avengers' part of the tower. 'Part from Stark's, of course.” The voice was warbled, no distinguishable accent. The man looked average to say the least. Square jaw, brown eyes and brown hair shorn in a buzz cut. 

“Facial recognition on him, J. On all of them.”

“On it, Sir”.

If only he could get down to his workshop. There, he had so many prototypes that needed to be tested, and body armour he could wear, and actual weapons he could use. But he wouldn't be able to do that without the invaders knowing. He could also call on the suits, but currently, two of them were repair, and the others.. they weren't as up to date, they were practically ancient, plus he has point to prove to rest of the team. That Tony Stark did not need fucking self defense lessons. But, he did have some supplies in his bedroom. It always payed to be prepared Going back into his penthouse, he peered out the windows, checking plane wasn't in sight, then quickly making his way over to the corridor that led to his bedroom. Getting to corridor had been a problem, all of the floor was covered in glittering shards of glass, reflecting the mid morning sunlight, and Tony was only is socks. In the end, he decided to just fuck it all, and ran across, ho could deal with his feet later. 

Entering his bedroom, he saw the secret door was already open and waiting, courtesy of Jarvis. Entering, he dressed him self in the more suitable clothing available. Steel toed boots, skin tight leggings and shirt, much like the under armour suits and the famed Black Widow's suit... only better. It was reinforced around the chest and thighs, acting much like a kevlar bulletproof vest.. only better. Gloves that matches, reinforced at the knuckles, promising a harder hit and less of a chance of bruised knuckles. Now he had a selection of weapons to choose from. 

He might of stopped his factories to stop weapons manufacturing, he still designed and developed them in his own workshop. After all, he was the Merchant of Death. 

Finally he chose a gun, not the newest model, but still new, it was sleek looking and matt black. It was quite small, but packed quite a punch. Frowning, he selected his bullets, hollow points, the type that shattered as they hit flesh, sending fragments of metal into the target. Vicious, but effective. 

Set and ready to go he walked into the bedroom, glancing at himself in the mirror. The usual groomed beard, a cut on his forehead, and anger in his eyes. Why the fuck did they have to blow in all windows of the upper floors, it meant the team would have to stay at Shield barracks why the windows were replaced. His spy suit was sleek, no unnecessary colours like a certain birdbrain... double holster on either side of his hips, knife sheath of his ankle and one on his right hip. More bullets lay in a pocket on the outside of his leggings, on his thigh.

He switched his attention to the TV in the room, “Cameras please, J”. 

The screen lit up immediately, split screen showing the men from different angles, following them. Voices echoed out of the speakers. “Check the floor, make sure Stark isn't trying to hide down here.”

Five of them split off and were securing floor above the communal, Natasha's floor. She'll be pissed, Tony chuckled to himself. That still left ten. They crept up the stairs, five more spitting off into Clint's floor. They probably wouldn't make a difference to Clint's room, it was mess the last time Tony had been down there.

That left five, guns at the ready, making there way up to his Penthouse. 

Tony walked into the kitchen, not blinking as the glass crunched under his boots, “Jarvis?”

The TV lit up, showing the five men, including the leader, were on the last flight of stairs leading up to the door.

Tony moved towards the door, until he was flat against the wall next the door, on the side of the hinges. Slowly, the door opened, gliding smoothly until it was perpendicular with the wall. The first soldier crept through- not the leader- this was the only blond guy there. Blondy's head swivelled around as he stepped through the door, when he caught sight of Tony, he seemed surprised. There was honest confusion in his gaze as a punch to the underside of his jaw from reinforced gloves, sent him stumbling back a few metres, to collapse into the kitchen island. That seemed to take the others by surprise as well, there was no noise from them, three of them held gormless expressions while the leader looked only mildly impressed. Then three of them charged, holding up the submachine guns and aiming. Tony leapt to the side and backwards, taking cover behind the sofa. Plumes of feathers danced into air as the bullets sprayed into the couch. Pepper was going to be pissed. 

One quick at the TV screen behind him showed that the three of them had moved further into the room, in a loose 'V' shape. The leader was still standing in the door way. Once the rain of bullets subsided, he gripped the gun in a secure grip, holding it as naturally as the sun shone. He jumped in to a crouch, then rose up, twisting around, firing one shot each into the kneecaps of the front soldier of the 'V'. He collapsed, groaning, before going boneless. Must have passed out from the pain. That left three of them. 

Tony flipped towards them, eating up the distance between them in long, fluid strides. Blood pounded in his ears, in time with his heartbeat and adrenaline coursed through him. The stinging in his feet from the shards barely registered in his mind. Everything narrowed down to the two soldiers in front of him. He ignored the leader- for now. He seemed content to lean against the doorframe, his own gun laying languidly on the floor. 

Tony narrowed his eyes, glinting with calculations, angles and movements. 

A gun shot to the stomach. Jab to the solar plexus. As he bent over to clasp his wounds, almost headbutting tony; a knee to the face. The face shot up, and in a wild attempt, their hands flailed out, punching Tony in the jaw. Not pausing, with the palm of his hand, he thrust his arm out, catching him on the underside of his jaw. He collapsed, eyes rolling back in his head. 

The other guy moved. Twisting around so he was face to face with the man, he kept twisting, he lowered into a crouch and swept out one leg. He swept the legs of the soldier from under him. He rose out of the crouch, standing over the soldier. Brunette, buzz cut, green eyes, faint scar on his left cheek.  
Time to give another scar, Tony though viciously. 

He dropped to his knees, one knee pressed heavily in the soldiers gut, as his hands came up and wrapped themselves around Tony's neck. He raised his fist ready to break the fuckers face, when the soldier twisted in his grip. Now it was the other way around. 

The soldier was on top, hands clinging on to his neck, fingers pressed against his trachea. The pounding in his ears got louder. With a grunt of exertion, he bobbed his head up and his forehead connected with his attackers nose with a crunch. Hot blood spurted over his face. Tony lifted up a knee sharply between the man's legs. Tony grinned as the soldier cursed. 

Tony heaved himself up, groping the side of his hip. There. He gripped the hilt of the dagger, ploughing it upwards, till it reached flesh. He slipped the blade between ribs with precision, the blade so fine it took a few moments for blood to start flowing. 

Using his arms as leverage, after holstering the knife once more, he kicked up and managed to gulp in enough air to throw the attacker off. Standing over the whimpering man once more, he decided to leave him, he would hold no danger anymore. 

Panting, he turned around to look at the leader, who still just stood there. Leaning against, relaxing against the side of the door frame. The rush of adrenaline was fading, and now he could feel the throbbing of his jaw, and a sharp pain in his arm. Probably a stray bullet from the machine guns. He could deal with that later. 

He moved swiftly, acting like he was going to punch him. The leader moved into a fighting position, arms raised and outstretched slightly, legs wide for balance, though all limbs were loose and relaxed. At the last minute, he instead used his momentum to slide down beneath his legs, and quickly spin around as the leader did. Tony sprang up and onto the leaders back, hands around his throat, fingers digging in, nails scoring trail in the flesh. They fell to the floor together. The man writhed beneath as Tony dug his knees into his shoulders. He lifted his other gun into his hand and then held against the struggling neck. The leader stilled instantly. 

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but was instantly cut off by another voice echoing from up the stairwell. Tony twisted his head, knife slipping into his hand, ready to throw at a moments notice. 

The voice came again. “Ironman? Ironma- Tony!”. A red haired woman came into view. “Tony?” The famed BlackWidow looked shocked. Well, not shocked, but her eyes had widened minutely and the question on her lips died off as she surveyed the damage. Bodies were strewn around on a bed of broken glass. Blood pooled around two of them. Tony was sitting on a body, gun held casually in his hand against the body's neck. 

Tony just sent his famed Tony Stark Smirk, “Still think I need defense lessons?”


End file.
